


With Tired Eyes, Tired Minds

by ellembee



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Service Dogs, Tumblr: promptsinpanem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 14:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3695045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellembee/pseuds/ellembee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“While she loves Tucker more than anything (and anyone) in the world, it sucks that her most personal secret is on display whenever they’re in public. People don’t know what she needs him for, but they see his vest, the words ‘Service Dog, Please Do Not Pet’ printed across his chest, and they know she is a little bit broken.” Modern AU.</p><p>Written for Prompts in Panem, Round 7, Day 6.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Tired Eyes, Tired Minds

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song by Explosions in the Sky.

Katniss is halfway down the stairs when the power cuts out. She slams her free hand against the wall to keep herself from falling. 

_I’m home. I’m okay. It’s just the storm._

She squeezes her eyes shut and waits a few seconds. When she opens them, there is no difference. The dark stretches endlessly around her. She’s trapped.

She stumbles down the last few steps and sinks to the ground.

_I’m home. I’m okay. I’m home. I’m okay._

But it’s happening all over again. The air is thick with a violent, crackling heat. Concrete presses in on all sides.

“Tucker.” Her voice comes out as a croak, but the golden retriever is already close. He presses his cold, wet nose into her outstretched hand. “Get the medicine.”

Katniss hugs her knees to her chest and pushes away the sound of screaming.

_Prim. I have to find Prim._

She focuses on the noise Tucker’s nails make as he trots into the living room.

_I’m home. I’m safe. Prim isn’t here._

He returns seconds later with a small canvas bag.

“Good boy,” she whispers, rubbing his head. “Get a water.”

Nails against the floor. The pop of the refrigerator door as it opens and shuts. A cool bottle of water pressed into her palm.

Her hands shake as she scratches behind his ears. “You’re such a good boy.”

The dark makes it difficult to find the right prescription. She’s on an endless amount these days. The first pill is the wrong size, so she drops it back in. The second is the wrong shape. Finally, she locates the Clonazepam. She pops two in her mouth followed by a large gulp of water. 

The bottle is too wet, her hands too unsteady. It slips to the ground, and water spills around her. She barely notices the puddle seeping into her clothing.

Tucker rests his head on her knees. There is nothing else to do but use his presence to ground her, reminder her where she is, and wait for the panic to pass. If she stands up too soon, she will break apart. She’ll be nothing but a pile of limbs and ash.

She’s not sure how long it takes. It’s impossible to tell in the dark. Panic attacks always twist her perception of time, expanding seconds into minutes into hours. Sometimes she forgets the date and is back in rubble, lost and bloody and alone.

She thinks of the scissors she used to drag across her arm. It never left anything more than angry red scratches behind, but it always calmed her. The pain reminded her where she was. She never had to worry about slipping away with the dull blade pressed to her skin.

But she hasn’t done it in months. Tucker is trained to interrupt that habit. She can’t even scratch her arms for too long without him shoving his nose against her hand.

Finally, her heart rate slows. The nausea passes. She picks her head up, but keeps her eyes closed, so she can pretend that the dark is a choice she has made and that she is still in control.

A knock at the door startles her. Who the hell is at her door in the middle of a blizzard? Her house is located on a cul-de-sac at the end of a long residential street. She cannot see the main road from her window, but it is safe to assume it is impassable. 

Another knock. Then, a voice: “Katniss? Katniss, it’s Peeta from next door.”

Peeta moved into the house nestled between hers and Mr. Abernathy’s six months ago. Despite his numerous attempts to strike up a conversation, she has yet to actually speak to him. 

Two weeks after Peeta arrived, he knocked on her front door. At the time, she was draped over the couch, cuddling with Tucker. She muted the TV and waited for him to leave. Peeta knocked a few more times before giving up. The sound of footsteps on her porch less than fifteen minutes later suggested he returned, but this time there was no knock. She snuggled into Tucker’s fur and fell asleep.

When she opened the door that night to retrieve the mail, she found a plastic tub of homemade chocolate chip cookies and a note sitting on her porch.

_I’m sorry I missed you! I’m your new neighbor. I hope you enjoy the cookies. It’s just my way of saying hello. I hope to meet you soon! – Peeta_

His note inspired an unreasonable amount of rage. Didn’t he understand personal etiquette? She was supposed to visit him with some kind of gift to welcome him to the neighborhood, not the other way around. It didn’t matter that she had no intention of doing so. His delivery felt like a scolding. He had given her two weeks to say hello, and when she failed, he decided to make her feel shitty about it.

She threw out the cookies, shredded the note, and resolved not to return his Tupperware. She usually managed to avoid him. Occasionally, he caught sight of her when she was returning from a doctor’s appointment or walking Tucker along the road. He always waved and shouted out a greeting.

She always averted her eyes and pretended not to hear.

“Katniss?”

She knows if she waits him out, he’ll leave, but she feels the tiniest bit of guilt that he’s standing outside in the freezing cold trying to get her attention.

Well, it’s not her fault he’s an idiot. She didn’t ask him to pay her a visit in the middle of a blizzard.

Still, this is the first time he’s come to her door since his initial attempt. It must be important if he’s doing it now. What if he’s hurt? What if he needs help?

She goes to the door. Tucker follows her closely. 

Peeta stands on her porch, holding a lantern and a shovel. He is bundled up in a black North Face coat and matching gloves.

“Hey,” he says.

“Are you here to shovel my driveway?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Can I come in?”

Despite the overhang protecting the porch, the snow batters Peeta’s face.

She nods. He leans the shovel against the side of her house, stomps off as much snow as he can, and steps inside. Pieces of blonde hair stick out from beneath the knit cap he wears on his head. Snowflakes dot his eyelashes.

“What are you doing here?” She doesn’t mean to sound rude, but his presence in her house makes her uncomfortable. She’s not used to company.

A second burst of light appears as Peeta hands her a flashlight. 

“I wanted to invite you over. I have a small generator if you need to charge your phone or anything else. I also have a woodstove, so it won’t be cold.”

There is a fireplace in her living room, but she has never used it and she never will. A woodstove isn’t much better, but at least the flames aren’t visible with the door shut. She can pretend it’s not there at all.

Katniss fiddles with her flashlight so she doesn’t have to look at Peeta. “You’re inviting just me?”

“I stopped at Mr. Abernathy’s first, but he was asleep. Waking him up didn’t go so well. Did you know he sleeps with a knife?”

She didn’t. She knows very little about Haymitch except that he seems as antisocial as her. Maybe more so.

“I think he was a Marine,” she says, as if this is enough of an explanation.

It is. Enough for Peeta, at least. “I told him he could come over, but I’m not sure he understood, so I covered him up with a couple of extra blankets I found and left him a flashlight.”

“That was really nice of you.” 

Peeta seems genuine enough. He has a nice smile. She’s used to seeing him as a blonde blur as he drives by, or a smiling figure across the street. He’s quite handsome up close.

“So you can come over. If you want. I mean, it’ll just be the two of us, so it’s up to you. I was going to watch a movie on my laptop. The woodstove keeps the living room really warm.”

He’s rambling a little bit, which is sort of cute, and the idea of light and sound and warmth sounds like paradise right now. She’s used to being alone, but she always has a distraction: a book, a movie, a jigsaw puzzle. Anything to occupy her mind.

The only option she has left is to go to bed, but she always sleeps with a light on. She knows she has a flashlight somewhere in the house, and Peeta would probably let her keep his. She’s not sure it’ll be enough.

“My dog can’t be left alone,” she says as if this is a reasonable excuse.

There’s no way Peeta doesn’t know what Tucker is. Whenever she leaves the house, Tucker is with her. While she loves Tucker more than anything (and anyone) in the world, it sucks that her most personal secret is on display whenever they’re in public. People don’t know what she needs him for, but they see his vest, the words “Service Dog, Please Do Not Pet” printed across his chest, and they know she is a little bit broken.

“No problem. He can come too. What’s his name?”

“Tucker.”

“Can I pet him?”

It’s sweet that he asks. Tucker doesn’t wear his vest around the house, so he is technically off-duty, free to play and return affection to whoever offers it. Still though, Peeta respects what Tucker is. It makes her feel like he respects her too.

“Yeah, go ahead,” she says.

Peeta kneels down and scratches behind the dog’s ears.

“I need to change.” Her pants are still damp, and her socks are absolutely soaked.

“Okay. Take your time. I’ll wait with this guy.”

Anxiety seizes her as she follows the flashlight beam up the stairs. She cannot remember the last time she hung out with another person for an extended amount of time. 

Her therapist, Dr. Aurelius, has been pushing her to get out of the house more. He doesn’t think her biweekly appointments with him or her monthly trips to the doggy spa are enough. She walks Tucker at least three times a day, but Dr. Aurelius stressed how vital social interaction is to her recovery.

Thanks to the Internet, she rarely has to leave her house. Everything is ordered online and delivered to her front door, even groceries.

Going to Peeta’s house will make Dr. Aurelius happy. He’ll see it as progress. Maybe he’ll stop insisting she see him every two weeks. She would prefer once a month.

When she comes downstairs a few minutes later wearing boots and sweatpants, she finds Tucker with his food bowl hanging from his mouth, looking up at Peeta with pitiful eyes.

“Tuck, come on,” Katniss says.

“Does he need to eat before we go?” Peeta asks.

“He already had dinner.” She takes the bowl out of Tucker’s mouth and places it on the ground. “And dessert. But nice try.”

She pulls her coat off the hook by the door and slips it on. Tucker’s leash is next. She doesn’t bother with the vest.

“Lead the way,” she says.

Once they’re outside, Katniss understands the purpose of Peeta’s shovel. He’s made a path from his house to Haymitch’s and then back to Katniss’s. There’s almost a foot of snow on the ground. Without the clearing, it’d be incredibly difficult to cross the street.

It’s dark inside Peeta’s house. He lights the way to the middle of the living room where he flicks on a lamp plugged into a generator. 

“We’ll use this until we get ourselves situated. Then, I’ll plug in the laptop,” he explains. “Can I get you anything to drink? Water? Soda? Beer?”

Katniss kicks off her boots. She removes her coat and Tucker’s leash, and Peeta rushes to take them from her.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Katniss mumbles. Peeta’s eagerness is a little overwhelming.

“What about for Tucker?”

“Yeah, sure. Water would be nice.”

The lamp gives off just enough light for Katniss to see the dark blue sofa and the flat screen TV enclosed in an entertainment unit. There’s a coffee table too, pushed over to the side, so half of it is shrouded in darkness.

Peeta returns with a bowl full of water. Tucker laps it up once it’s set on the ground.

“I thought maybe we could sit on the floor? Put the laptop between us? Unless you just want to go to bed.”

The offer is tempting: claim exhaustion, fall asleep bathed in warmth and light, and go home in the morning.

And she is tired. The double dose of Clonazepam is finally catching up with her. The world is softer, a little fuzzier. Instead of nervous energy running through her limbs, she feels calm and still. There’s something else too. It’s not exactly happiness, but something close to it taking root in her chest.

“No, I’m not tired yet.” She stifles a yawn behind her hand and offers him a guilty smile. “Let’s watch a movie.”

“Awesome! Okay.” He points to an extensive movie collection shelved beside the TV. “Our selection is pretty limited since I can’t play Blu-rays on my laptop.”

“That’s fine.”

“Take a look at the top shelf. I need to add more wood to the fire.”

She tries to focus on the titles, but the words blur together. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the red and orange glow of the fire as Peeta opens the door to the woodstove.

It’s over quickly. A couple of logs later, the flames disappear with a squeak of the door. She swipes a random DVD off the shelf and presents it to him.

“ _Out Cold_? What a weather-appropriate choice,” Peeta says. He lays a blanket on the floor and props two pillows up against the couch. He gestures for her to take a seat.

“I’ve never seen it,” she says.

“It’s really, really dumb, but also really, really funny.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Peeta reaches into the dark and pulls his laptop off the coffee table. Once it’s on, he unplugs the lamp. The only source of light is the white glow of the computer screen.

Tucker snuggles into her side, resting his head on her knee. Peeta drapes a blanket over her shoulders before sitting down.

“Thanks,” she says. The blanket is soft and smells faintly of cologne. She likes the scent.

True to his word, Peeta places the laptop between them, so they can both see the movie without actually having to touch.

“If you need help digging yourself out tomorrow, I can help. I’ve got a snow blower.”

“Oh. Thank you.” She’s unsure if she wants to commit to spending more time with him. While it would be impossible to talk while he cleared the driveway, she would have to invite him inside afterward. Offer him a drink or something to eat. That would be the polite thing to do.

Especially after all this.

He takes her gratitude as an agreement, and she lets him. She can always change her mind later.

The movie begins to play. Peeta opens and closes his mouth. Finally he says, “I can help with other stuff too. Around your house. I can fix stuff. Or mow your lawn.”

“I’ve lived by myself for over a year,” Katniss says, staring at the screen. She doesn’t think of the man who used to mow the lawn at the house where she used to live in the town where she used to be happy. “I’m perfectly capable of mowing my own lawn.”

“Oh. Well in that case, do you want to do mine too?”

She stares at him, wide-eyed.

“I’m kidding,” he says. “I just meant that I know living alone can be difficult. I can help you out with yard work or fixing things or whatever. You can help me out too.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I’m not doing your laundry.”

“Laundry isn’t a problem. Whenever I run out of clean clothes, I just buy more.”

She picks up on the joke this time and laughs. Not loudly or deeply, but the sound surprises her. It’s not that she never does it. It’s just that usually it’s at something fictional, like a movie or book. This is the first time in a while that another person has elicited the sound.

Of course, this is the first time in forever that she’s had a conversation with someone she wasn’t paying to talk to her.

“Can you cook?” he asks.

“I’m making you dinner now?”

He shakes his head. “You are incredibly difficult.”

“So I’ve been told.”

He lets out an exaggerated sigh. “I’m sorry for trying to be a good neighbor. I retract my offer of help.”

He looks back at the screen, so she does too. 

After a full minute of watching, she finally says, “Yes, I can cook. I guess I could make you something in exchange for digging me out.”

“That sounds amazing,” he says. “I can make a few things, but I’m much better at baking. And unfortunately, you can’t live off baked goods.”

“Are you sure? Have you tried?”

For a brief moment, they stare at each other, twin expressions of amusement on their faces. She might be enjoying herself. 

Just a little bit.

“Are you warm enough?” he asks.

“I’m good.”

“Okay. Just let me know if you need anything.”

She wants to leave it at that. She wants to watch the movie in comfortable silence, but she has to ask. It’s driving her crazy.

“Why did you invite me over?”

“Because I have heat and light?”

“Well, yeah.” She pulls the blanket tighter around her. “It’s just you’ve been living next to me for a while, and I haven’t exactly been…friendly.”

He shrugs. “It’s okay. I know I can be a pretty intimidating person.”

She laughs again. It’s strange how easily it all comes back: talking and laughing with another person.

“Just because you weren’t looking to be friends, I at least thought I’d ask. I was worried. I wanted to make sure you and Haymitch were okay.”

He’s too sweet, too thoughtful, too genuine. She can already feel herself getting attached, and she doesn’t like it.

That’s partly why she left Gale, isn’t it? She hated that she needed him, hated knowing that one day he could be gone, just like that. She wasn’t afraid of being alone. She was afraid of being _left_.

Gale was so patient at first. When she had a panic attack in a store, he steered her outside. When she pretended to be sick so she wouldn’t have to go out with their friends, he stayed home too. When he caught her with a pair of scissors and her sleeve rolled up, he hugged her close and made the doctor’s appointment for her.

He told her he understood. He told her he’d stay no matter what. He told her he didn’t care if they never left the house again. As long as she felt safe and happy. As long as they were together.

But things only got harder. Everyday, she retreated a little more inside herself. Everyday, she spent just a little bit longer in bed. She felt like a burden, a useless, worthless lump sucking up all of Gale’s energy and giving nothing back.

Gale grew desperate. He pleaded with her to come out with him. To a movie or to dinner. For a quick run to Target. He understood her grief, but he didn’t understand anything else.

“You don’t have to do that,” she says. “I would have been fine.” Her voice comes out harder than she means.

“I know,” Peeta says. “I just wanted to make sure.”

She doesn’t know what to say after that, so she focuses on the movie.

***

Katniss wakes to a quiet voice and warm breath on her cheek. She opens her eyes, surprised to find herself at an angle, her head against Peeta’s shoulder.

She sits up quickly.

“Movie’s over,” he says.

The computer is on Peeta’s lap now, the credits rolling.

“How did I…?” she trails off as she examines the distance between their bodies. There isn’t any.

“You started falling asleep. I asked if you wanted to get on the couch, and you said no. I picked up the computer and offered my shoulder.”

Vaguely, she remembers drifting off to the sound of the movie still playing, her cheek pressed against the soft fabric of Peeta’s shirt.

The sadness comes out of nowhere, painful and violent. She is crushed beneath it. Her throat aches, and she knows she is about to cry. She reaches for Tucker, gives him the signal he’s trained for, her secret weapon when she dares to go out in public and regrets it.

Tucker jumps up and begins to whine. He turns in a circle before nudging Katniss and whining again.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “He needs to go out.”

“I can do it if you want. It’s still snowing.”

“No, no, you’ve been so nice.” She stands up and looks around for her boots. “We should get home anyway. It’s late.”

“Your house must be freezing by now. You’re welcome to sleep here.”

The room is too dark, his words too kind. It’s all too much.

“You’ve been really nice, but we really need to leave now.” She finds her boots by the door and tugs them on.

“Can I at least walk you back?”

“That’s not necessary.” She pulls on her coat. “I’m right next door.”

“Are you sure? I just—”

“Stop! Please. Please.” She covers her face and slumps back against the door. A few tears slip out as she tries to focus on her breathing.

“I’m sorry,” Peeta says quietly.

She hears footsteps and the click of Tucker’s leash. She drops her hands to find Peeta holding it out to her. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says.

“It’s not your fault. This just the way I am.” She can’t stand the thought of him feeling guilty when all he was trying to do was help.

The image of Gale the last time she saw him suddenly pops into her head. Anger and sadness tangled up in his words, on his face. He apologized over and over for things that weren’t his fault and for things that were. He begged her to stay.

She never did get the words right. She didn’t know how to explain to him that he was a reminder of before, of when things were good. And she knew things would never be good again. She couldn’t stand looking at him and remembering everything she lost.

And she couldn’t stand waiting for him to disappear too.

“Take this.”

Peeta’s voice breaks her out of her trance. He hands her the lantern.

“The batteries are pretty new, so they should last a while,” he says.

“Thank you.” Katniss takes it from him and leads Tucker out into the snow.

Later, she falls asleep with the lantern on her dresser, and Tucker by her feet. Together, they keep the monsters away.

***

The next morning, the snow has stopped but there’s still no power. Her usual routine is to take her morning meds, walk Tucker, and then eat breakfast, but there’s almost two feet of snow outside. Even Peeta’s path is covered.

While she can’t do anything about her driveway, she can at least shovel the path Peeta made.

As she slips on her coat, the sound of a snow blower makes her jump. She looks out the window and sees Peeta clearing the path from his house to hers. 

He tackles her driveway next.

She watches him until Tucker nudges her leg. She grabs the leash and they head outside.

Peeta doesn’t notice her at first. She makes it past him and down the path he cleared. On her way back toward her house, they lock eyes and he smiles at her and waves. She feels shy, maybe a little embarrassed, but she forces herself to return the gesture.

She walks up and down the path until Tucker has done his business and gotten sufficient exercise for the morning.

Once inside, she makes a peanut butter sandwich for breakfast before burrowing under several blankets on the couch. She reads as she waits.

Finally, the noise outside stops. She listens to the heavy footsteps on her porch as Peeta stomps off the snow. She opens the door and welcomes him inside.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey. Thank you so much. I would have had to hire a snowplow otherwise.”

“No problem,” he says. “I guess dinner is out of the question unless the electricity comes back.”

“If not tonight, then soon.”

He grins. “That sounds good.”

“I can make you a peanut butter sandwich. If you’re hungry.”

His face lights up. “Do you have any bananas?” 

“I do.”

He follows her into the kitchen, still wearing his coat. “It’s freezing in here. Do you want me to start a fire for you? I have plenty of wood.”

“No, no, that’s okay,” she answers quickly. “Tucker and I are going to make a blanket fort. We’ll be fine.”

She pulls out a plate, a jar of peanut butter, and two slices of bread. She and Peeta stand on either side of the island in the middle of the kitchen.

“Do you want to come back over? We can play cards or something. Or you can read while I finish up some stuff for work.”

“You’re really inviting me back over after last night?” She takes out the cutting board. Unpeels the banana. Focusing on each small step makes the conversation easier.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I kind of freaked out on you.”

“It’s fine. Really. I’ve had my share of panic attacks.”

The knife clatters against the counter, but Katniss quickly picks it up and resumes cutting.

“It’s not a big deal,” he says.

“It is. It is a big deal.” She jabs a clean knife into the jar of peanut butter. “You’re the first person I’ve had over. Ever. I’ve been in this house over a year.”

“Well, thanks for letting me come in.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t be nice because you feel sorry for me.”

“There’s a difference between pity and empathy, you know that, right?”

“Of course. But—”

“I don’t know why you have Tucker, and you don’t need to tell me. And if you really don’t want to be friends, that’s fine. But I think maybe you need one.”

She glares at him. “We’ve spent maybe two hours together, and suddenly you know what’s best for me? I have a therapist for that, thank you.” She pushes the plate over to him. “Maybe you should take that to go.”

“Katniss, come on.”

“I’m really tired, so I—”

“I only have one leg.”

She stares at him, mouth agape. “What?”

He taps his right thigh. “It’s a prosthetic from the knee down.”

“Seriously? And I just let you do all that work outside?”

He gives her a crooked smile. “I’m pretty sure that’s pity.”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. It’s not. I just feel guilty.”

“There’s nothing to feel guilty for. I lost it ten years ago. I was in a car accident my senior year of high school.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Yeah. It sucked. Losing my brother was a lot worse though.”

Her back stiffens as his words sink in. “You don’t have to explain.”

“I know. But I want to.” He pulls off his hat and runs a hand through his hair. “I was driving us home from the movies when a drunk driver ran a red light and slammed into us. I lost my leg. Rye died at the hospital. My mother stopped speaking to me.” He says it all matter-of-factly, as if he’s told the story a hundred times before, and he’s finally reduced to the essential facts.

She wants to touch his shoulder, squeeze his hand, but she stays perfectly still. “But what happened wasn’t your fault.”

“Doesn’t matter. I think you already know that though.”

She looks down at the counter and shrugs.

“I couldn’t get into the driver’s seat without having a panic attack for years,” he says. “I ended up going to college in New York, so I wouldn’t have to drive anywhere. I took a job there too. I only moved here because I was sick of living with all that anxiety and guilt. I thought if I forced myself to drive, if I didn’t give myself a choice, I’d get better.”

“Did it work?”

“Sort of. I dread going to work every morning. I start thinking about my commute home at least an hour before I have to leave. I only drive when I absolutely have to. It kind of limits my social life.”

“I might be familiar with that too,” she says.

“I still haven’t had a passenger in the car.”

“Do you want a passenger?”

He’s quiet for a moment as if considering her question. “I could use some company the next time I go to the grocery store.”

She instantly regrets her offer. “I haven’t been inside a grocery store in a really long time.”

“You could wait in the car.”

His suggestion is sweet, encouraging. Despite the temperature of her house, his words warm her. 

“Maybe.” She stares at him for a moment longer, at his flushed cheeks, his clear blue eyes, his ridiculously charming smile. And then she says it.

“My mother and sister died a year and a half ago.” She looks away, not wanting to see Peeta’s face transform into an expression of pity. It’s a knee-jerk reaction. Everyone does it, and it always makes her feel worse.

“I was meeting them at the mall for lunch.” She tries to swallow, but her throat is too dry. “When I got there, they were shopping on the opposite side of the mall. I texted Prim, and she said they’d be there in five minutes.”

If she closes her eyes, she can picture it. She remembers the clothes she wore, the laughter of the teenagers clustered nearby, the advertisement she was staring at when the world exploded.

“The mall was under construction. There were people working on the new addition. One of them hit a gas line.”

She hears Peeta’s sharp intake of breath, but he doesn’t say a word.

“One second, everything is completely normal.” She clasps her hands together in front of her before ripping them apart. “Then, chaos. My mom and sister were killed instantly. I was far enough away to be safe from the blast, but the roof caved in. I was trapped for two hours before rescue workers found me. I had a couple of broken bones, a minor head wound. And that’s it.”

Every time she leaves the house, she finds herself holding her breath, waiting for the next disaster. Being outside is okay. She likes the fresh air, the wide-open spaces. The problem is any place else. The first time she visited a grocery store after losing her family, she stared at the wall next to the produce, waiting for it to explode. She felt it coming, the knowledge buzzing under skin. The certainty was paralyzing.

It was her first panic attack. More followed. She had them everywhere. Sometimes they woke her up in the middle of the night.

“I already knew the world wasn’t fair. I lost my dad when I was only eleven years old. But I didn’t realize how cruel it could be. How random.”

He touches her hand. His skin is cold, but the jolt it sends through her is an anchor. It keeps her from getting too lost.

“It doesn’t matter how much bad shit happens to you. There’s no rule, no limit. It’s why I prefer to be alone.”

“Being alone kind of sucks,” he says. 

“Everything kind of sucks.”

“I promise you having someone next to you makes it a little easier.”

She shrugs. “I think I’m going to go lay down. Enjoy your sandwich.”

She’s grateful that he doesn’t try to stop her.

***

Two nights later, when the power is restored and her groceries are delivered, Katniss makes meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans. For once she doesn’t have to worry about making too much.

Peeta comes over at seven with a plate of peanut butter cookies and red velvet cupcakes.

Katniss tells him she’s tired of ordering all her books online. She tells him she misses browsing the shelves and finding titles she would have otherwise missed.

He suggests they go to the bookstore tomorrow after he gets home from work.

She spends the night on the bathroom floor, rocking back and forth. Her panic cuts through her, spoils all the good feelings she collected from the evening. She throws up twice. 

When she finally falls asleep, it is on the bathmat in front of the shower, Tucker curled up next to her. At some point she stumbles back to bed and sleeps for the entire day.

When Peeta comes to her door that night, she is showered and dressed. Tucker already wears his vest and leash.

“I’m scared,” she says as they walk to the car.

“Me too.”

Tucker lies down in the backseat, and Peeta drives them to the closest bookstore, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. He doesn’t go over the speed limit once.

“You did it,” she says once he parks the car.

“Yeah.” His hands shake as he undoes his seatbelt.

“I can drive home. You don’t have to do everything in one day.”

“Thanks. I might take you up on that. And you know, if you get nervous, we can leave. We’ll just keep trying until it’s easier.”

As they cross the parking lot, she twists Tucker’s leash around her palm and holds it tightly. When they enter, she freezes. If it’s possible, she somehow feels worse than she did last year. She hasn’t tried in so long, and she has built it up in her head. Moving feels impossible.

Peeta slips his hand into hers. “Let’s just take one step, okay?” 

She stares straight ahead. There aren’t many customers, and the store isn’t that big, but her gaze gets stuck on the wall behind the cash registers. Her heart rate speeds up. Her palms grow sweaty.

“Katniss?”

She focuses on Peeta’s voice, on the pressure of Tucker’s body against her legs. If there is no limit to a person’s suffering, then the opposite should be true too. She should have enough room inside for a lifetime’s worth of happiness, even if it has to co-exist with the pain.

She wants to do this. She _has_ to do this.

“Okay,” she says and lets him pull her forward. 

“One more?” he asks. She nods.

They continue like that, one step at a time, Tucker following their pace until, finally, they reach the beginning of the fiction section.

She knows she’ll never step foot inside another mall. A big department store is out of the question. Even a restaurant seems impossible. But she misses going out to dinner, seeing a movie the weekend it comes out, trying on clothes before she buys them.

Maybe she can do this. Maybe life doesn’t have to be a series of panic attacks and lonely nights and paralyzing thoughts of regret.

Maybe she can miss Prim, her mother and father, everything she left behind and still be happy. It feels possible, standing in the bookstore, Peeta and Tucker by her side.

“Don’t let go of my hand,” she says.

He doesn’t.


End file.
